


The Dangers of Blue-Eyed Boys

by Katie (katieandsav)



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Supernatural, Superpotter
Genre: Crossover, Destiel - Freeform, F/F, M/M, katie's shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 16:39:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katieandsav/pseuds/Katie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester's lived a fairly normal life--well, as normal a life as a wizard can live. That is, until a strange boy called Castiel Novak stumbles into it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Train seats were awful, Dean decided, as he wriggled around restlessly on his. He twirled his wand—an ebony beauty with a core of basilisk scales. How more badass could you _get_?—around his index finger and gazed out the window. The English countryside raced past as they moved closer to Hogwarts—as Dean moved closer to another year of homework, moving staircases, and girls swooning over his American accent. (On that note, Dean had to remember to figure out a contraceptive spell.)

His gaze drifted to Sam. His skinny little brother had fallen asleep with his _Hogwarts: A History_ book still open on his chest. Dean couldn’t help smiling at the sight of his nerdy little brother, though; Sammy was already decked out in his robes, his hat falling down over one shut eye. His wand was clutched tightly in his hand in the sort of needy yet reverent grip a toddler holds his favourite toy with, a scroll of parchment covered in his perfect handwriting poking out his pocket—probably detailing spells and potions he’d never actually need to use, like how to track a lost tennis ball or something.

From the moment Dean had learnt about the Hogwarts houses, he’d known Sam would be a Ravenclaw. No doubt about it. And sure enough, three years ago, Dean had been proven right. However, the older Winchester had been a little surprised when he himself had been sorted into Gryffindor—he guessed it was because he wanted to protect his family—especially that little dork asleep on the other side of the carriage—but surely everyone felt that way?

Either way, here Dean was: in his final year of being at Hogwarts. He sure as hell wasn’t a prefect or anything like that, but he had to admit that he was still kinda proud of himself. He’d gone six years without accidentally blowing the school up or anything, so that was a plus, right? Now he just had to make it through his seventh.

Dean was snapped out of his daze by a knock at the carriage door. He glanced away from the window, blinking, as a face peered in through the crack in the door.

“Er, pardon, would you mind terribly if I sat in here? My friends… they have not seen each other the entire holiday and believe that is a reason to attach themselves by the lips for the entire journey.” The visitor smiled sheepishly. Dean recognised him; the tangle of messy dark hair and those bright blue eyes were unmistakeable. This boy was in the same year as him at Hogwarts—he’d always been visible out the corner of Dean’s eye, but they’d never had an actual conversation.

“Oh, uh, sure. Go ahead. I’m Dean. Dean Winchester, I mean. Not the other Dean. That in the corner is my little brother, Sam.” He gestured to the softly-snoring figure. “Here’s to hoping he sleeps for the rest of the journey, or we’ll probably get an hour-long earful about mandrakes or something.”

The boy stepped inside gratefully and perched stiffly on the edge of a seat. “I’m Castiel,” he told Dean. “I’m assuming I don’t need to clarify which Castiel I am, for I doubt there are many.” A slight laugh.

“Castiel,” Dean said, testing the name out. “Anyone call you ‘Cas’?”

“Most people, aside from my family,” Castiel admitted.

“Then add me to the list. ‘Cas’ is much easier to remember than ‘Castiel’. No offence, but I already have enough crap to memorise thanks to Snape.”

“None taken,” Cas laughed, pulling his legs up to his chest and resting his chin on his knees so he looked like Dean’s owl, Jefferson, when he was nesting. “So, ah, you’re American, too?”

“Yep. Lawrence, Kansas—bred and born. My mom had wizarding blood in her family. That’s why I’m here.” Dean leaned back into the seat and stretched his legs out.

“You’re a halfblood? I would’ve thought you’d be a pureblood.” Cas frowned as this realisation hit him. “I am unsure of whether or not Father was a wizard. He never told us.” He shrugged.

“Why don’t you just ask him?”

“Father? Oh, no, he’s gone. He disappeared when I was ten with enough talent to make Houdini proud.” And Castiel laughed. Actually _laughed_. This kid was _weird_ , Dean decided. “My older brother, Michael—he looks after my siblings and me.”

“Wait, you mean Michael Novak? Wasn’t he, like, Gryffindor headboy a few years ago?”

Cas nodded.

“So you’re one of the Novak brothers?”

“I believe that was implied when I said Michael is my brother, yes.” Castiel raised an eyebrow. Smartass.

Dean looked his new companion over. Apparently, the gigantic Novak family was full of prodigies, from the already-graduated twins, Michael and Lucifer, to the tiny first year, Samandriel. They all had kinda weirdass names, so Dean should’ve known Castiel was one of them. However, most of them refused to have their names shortened—some kid called Lucifer ‘Lucy’ once and ended up without eyebrows for the rest of the semester. “Why’s it that none of you Novak kids look alike?” Dean burst out without thinking.  “It’s weird. I mean, your hair’s pretty much almost black, but that Hester girl in Ravenclaw’s blonde. What the hell, man?”

Castiel regarded him with amusement. “Honestly? None of us are really sure, either. It just is what it is. Anna—my sister—has a theory that most of us are adopted, but no one knows who the biological siblings really are, so we might as well all be.”

“Oh,” Dean said. He looked out the window again. “You’re Gryffindor, right?”

Cas untucked his red and gold scarf from beneath his robes—which were beige, for some reason. “Yes. I thought you were, too, but I’m having doubts now that I see your brother is in Ravenclaw?” His gaze drifted to the blue and bronze adornments covering Sam’s trunk, which resided in the cubby above the younger Winchester’s head.

“What? Hell no. I could never be a Ravenclaw. I’m Gryffindor, too.”

“I thought I had seen you in the common room before,” Cas announced, evidently pleased that he had been right. He had a pretty cute smile, Dean decided—and then stiffened. He did _not_ just think this weird Novak kid was _cute_. He quickly reassured himself mentally that he meant cute in the sense of a squirrel or kitten; not _cute_ cute.

Still, Dean subconsciously moved away from Castiel, folded his arms and shut his eyes. “Maybe I’ll see you around this year, then.” He yawned. “But in the meantime, I’m gonna try catch some zees before we get to school.”

He could hear the confusion in Cas’ voice. “You aren’t going to get changed into your robes…?”

“Nah,” Dean said, shifting to lean back against the window. “I’ll just say that in the faraway land of America, tradition calls for leather jackets and jeans.” He smirked a little. “The _Where I come from…_ trick always works. I swear, if you told some of these girls rainbows shoot outta Americans’ asses when they fall in love, they’d believe ya. American muggles? The most foreign beasts out there for this lot.”

There was a laugh. “I’ll have to try it out, sometime, then.”


	2. Chapter 2

Around an hour and a half later, Dean was awoken by two hands shaking him: one jittery with excitement, the other tentative and light.

“Dean Dean Dean _Dean_!” Sammy yelped, bouncing like some sort of hyperactive little penguin. “We’re here, Dean! Move-your-butt-get-up-c’mon-let’s- _go_!”

The other hand belonged to Castiel. His smile was awkward—apologetic. “I, ah, apologise for waking you, Dean, but we really must get going. Hagrid’s outside, yelling for everyone to get off the train. He’s threatening us with a beast named… Fluffy—saying that if we don’t move faster, he’ll set it on us. And whilst the name doesn’t sound particularly threatening, I’m still rather concerned.”

At the sound of Fluffy’s name, Dean sat bolt upright and swept up his trunk and picked up Jefferson’s cage—the dark-chocolate-coloured owl was puffed up and his head was tucked beneath his wing, hiding his bright, golden eyes.

“Crap!” Dean exclaimed, hurriedly plonking his hat on his head. “Fluffy? I’ve heard stories about that thing—I don’t wanna find out if they’re true. Sammy, you got all your stuff?”

The younger Winchester nodded, beaming up at his brother.

“Alright, good. Let’s get going. Cas, you coming with us?” Dean didn’t wait for an answer before bolting out the compartment and hopping off the train, coming face-to-face with the hulking form of Rubeus Hagrid.

Hagrid chuckled as he took in Dean’s expression. “The thought of Fluffy scared yeh, eh?”

“Is he here?” Dean peered around, wide-eyed, and not caring for keeping up his usual tough-guy façade.

“Well, I guess since yeh’re off the train now, I can tell yeh that no—he isn’t.”

Dean studied Hagrid’s face for any evidence of a lie, then huffed out a short laugh when he found none. “’Course I ain’t scared of some pup,” he snorted, then brushed past Hagrid, searching for Jo.

The Harvelle kid had been in another compartment, with her brother, Ash, and one of his buddies—Charlie, or something. At first, Dean had been pissed that Jo had so unceremoniously abandoned him, but he got over it soon enough—he knew from experience that Harvelle didn’t shut up when she was excited, and he didn’t have the energy to entertain her useless ramblings.

Less than thirty seconds later, small footsteps tapped up behind Dean. The air was soon fogged up by Sam’s short breaths. “You think they’re gonna do a feast tonight, Dean?” Sam asked, panting.

“Probably, Sammy,” Dean replied, ruffling his little brother’s hair. “First day for the first years—they gotta do something to impress the little munchkins, right?”

“I guess!” Sam paused. “Hey, Dean?”

“Yeah?” Dean glanced around, still trying to spot Jo’s shock of blonde hair or Ash’s mullet. Didn’t that Charlie chick have red hair? He looked for her, too.

“Who was that in our compartment?”

“Uh.” Dean shifted his gaze to Sam. “His name’s Castiel. He’s a Gryffindor seventh year—like me. His friends were too busy sucking face to notice him—”

“Ew!” Sam laughed, crinkling his nose.

“—so he found refuge in our compartment. Couldn’t turn away the poor guy with a sob story like that, now could I?”

“Nope.” Sam shook his head. “Anyway, here he comes. Hi, Castiel!” He waved at the approaching boy, fumbling with Chewbacca’s—his gigantic, puffy, brown barn owl—cage.

Cas nodded at Sam with a half-smile. “Hello, Sam.” He wandered over to the Winchester brothers, dragging a large trunk behind him and holding a slender, black Siamese cat with huge blue eyes.

“Bye, Castiel!” Sam chirped and trotted off to go find his friends. “See you guys at the feast!”

“Bye, Sammy. Don’t fall in the lake. I hear there are some real vicious merpeople down there,” Dean called after him, laughing.

“I won’t!” came the reply.

Castiel stopped beside Dean and set the cat down on the ground, watching Sam jog away with vague amusement. “He certainly is an energetic little one.”

“He’s not nearly as bouncy any other time, I swear—it’s only when there’s a prospect of learning that he ricochets off the walls like this.” Dean shrugged, chuckling. “Nice cat you got there,” he added as he watched the feline and Jefferson sizing each other up.

“Thank you. Her name is Sarai.” Cas bent down and ran his palm along the length of the cat’s back, and Sarai released a tractor-loud purr, causing Jefferson to puff up defensively in his cage.

Dean regarded the cat. “She won’t bite Jefferson, will she? The owl, I mean?”

“No, I guarantee that she won’t,” Cas replied, glancing up. “Anna refers to her as ‘Petalpaws’, due to her loving nature.” He laughed softly, and Sarai mewled in agreement.

“Alright, good. ’Cause, no offence, but I’d skin that thing alive if she hurt Jeffie.”

“I assure you… Jeffie will remain perfectly unharmed,” Castiel promised. “As long as he doesn’t nip her, Sarai will only show him affection.” A pause. “And even if he did bite her, she would probably just run away with her tail between her legs. She is smart, but not the most aggressive of felines.”

Dean smirked. “He won’t hurt her—Jefferson only ever nips Sam’s owl, Chewie, when he gets a bit too big for his britches.”

“I sympathise with your brother’s owl. Being reprimanded in such a way is unpleasant.” Cas grinned, then scooped his cat up again. “Shall we board?” He nodded to a carriage—the type that was drawn by those creepy-ass skeleton horse things. They gave Dean the shivers; he hated going near them.

“Er, yeah, sure.” He picked up Jefferson’s cage—the owl was still glaring at Sarai—and grabbed the handle of his trunk, setting off toward the carriage. He hauled his trunk over the side and set Jefferson’s cage on top of it, then pulled himself up, collapsing on the seat with his back facing the horse.

Castiel followed suit, sitting across from Dean and gazing around the area in wonder. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he murmured, his blue eyes sparkling with awe.

Dean sat up to follow Cas’ gaze. “Yeah, I guess,” he said, shrugging. “Dunno how you can say that, though; it’s so dark I can’t see further than a meter in front of me—and the fog ain’t helping.”

Cas gave a wry smile but didn’t look away from the shape—presumably a tree. There were so many damn trees in this place, Dean didn’t know when the groundsman had found time to plant them all—his gaze was fixed upon. “I don’t mean right this second, Dean. These grounds are just simply breathtaking.”

“You want me to stop the carriage so you can have a quick little frolic in the daises and hug some trees—you know, so your whole speech has some visuals, too?”

An honest-to-god snort of laughter escaped Castiel. “I’m guessing you aren’t one to marvel at the wonder of nature for hours—or even minutes?”

“Nope. I’m guessing you are?”

Cas smiled and looked down. “I suppose you could say that.”

Dean leaned back in his seat to study the Novak boy. “Hey, what’s your best subject?”

Castiel blinked out of his daze. “What? Oh. My best grades are in Herbology, though I like Care of Magical Creatures more.”

“Knew it.”

“Knew what?” Cas tilted his head to the side, his brows pulling together questioningly.

“You’re a total hippy.” Dean grinned and leaned forward in his seat, dropping his voice to a murmur. “You got any pot?”

Cas blinked once more, uncomprehendingly. “My cauldron is in my trunk…” He reached for the large, leather case by his feet. “Shall I get it out for you…? Though, can’t this wait until we are at the school? I’m concerned that if I open my trunk, everything will fly out. It took hours to get all my clothes and supplies into one case—even with a compressing charm.” He frowned, obviously torn between aiding his new companion and being too tired to unpack and repack everything.

Dean stared at him. “You know what,” he said, “never mind.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Twenty minutes later, Dean and Castiel sauntered into the gigantic castle that was Hogwarts’ main building. They set their trunks down in the hall; Jefferson’s cage was perched atop Dean’s trunk—the owl fast asleep and cooing contentedly on each exhale. That goddamn bird could fall asleep anywhere. Dean swore he had a problem—and Sarai curled up on top of Castiel’s.

“ _Mmf_ ,” Dean said, clasping his hands behind his neck and stretching. “God, I can’t _wait_ for dinner. I’m starving.” (And, although he’d refuse to admit it, this wasn’t an exaggeration—John, his dad, often forgot to get dinner ready since he was so busy with work all the time, so the boys had to order takeouts. However, the Winchesters weren’t exactly rich, so Dean often had to tell Sam that he just wasn’t hungry so the kid could have something more filling than medium fries. Dean didn’t mind—Sammy was a growing kid, after all—but it was always a relief to return to Hogwarts and its glorious food.)

“As am I,” agreed Cas. He peered around. “I believe the feast is read—oh, look, the first years have met McGonnagall! That little blonde one in the back looks positively terrified of her.” He gestured to a small, sandy-haired kid with eyes the size of plates, who seemed to be quaking a little.

Dean glanced at the kid, mumbling, “Guess who’s going to be in Hufflepuff.”

Cas frowned at the Winchester. “Are you saying all Hufflepuffs are cowards?”

“Well, uh, they kinda are. Besides, why do you care? You’re a Gryffindor. We’re the brave ones.” Dean grinned.

“Two of my brothers are Hufflepuffs,” Cas huffed, “and they are both very brave. Even Samandriel.”

This caused Dean to falter. “Samandriel... Isn’t he a first year?”

“Yes,” Castiel affirmed, nodding.

“Then how do you know what house he’s in? The new bunch hasn’t even been sorted yet.”

Cas looked amused by Dean’s question—this caused Dean to scowl. He wasn’t some clown to make Castiel chuckle. “Dean,” Cas said, “after nine of your siblings have been sorted before, you learn to tell who’s going to be in which house.”

“Damn, there are a lot of you Novaks,” Dean muttered, starting toward the Great Hall.

“Only eleven that I know of,” Cas informed him, as if this number wasn’t huge to the single-siblinged Winchester. “There might be more, but I have not been informed of their existence by my brothers or sisters.” He shrugged, falling into step with Dean.

“Holy crap. Your dad had fun, huh?”

Castiel went silent, hiking his shoulder up in another shrug. He kept walking, his stride becoming increasingly faster—to the point that Dean had to jog to keep up with him. The Winchester stopped walking. “Hey, Cas?” he said.

Cas paused, then turned to look at Dean, his apparent annoyance at Dean’s comment dissipating. “Yes, Dean?”

“You sitting with anyone in particular at dinner?”

Castiel considered this for a moment. “No. My brother, Gabriel, finished school last year; he was the one I generally sat with.”

“You wanna sit with me and Jo? Jo’s my friend, by the way. She’s alright.”

Blue eyes regarded Dean for a moment, then Cas gave a slow nod. “Okay,” he said, almost smiling. “Okay, that sounds nice.”

“Awesome.” Dean grinned and walked up to Castiel, then continued into the Hall. Everyone in the gigantic room was buzzing with chatter and excitement; even the teachers seemed happy to be back—Flitwick was chittering with Hooch; Dumbledore and McGonnagall were having a rather intense discussion; Snape was glaring around, as per usual.

As they approached the Gryffindor table, Dean finally saw Jo. Her brown eyes were the colour of honey due to how hyped-up she was; her blonde hair was a ruffled mess. She was currently on her feet, yelling something at someone sitting across from her—a redheaded boy.

Dean glanced at Cas and gestured at where Jo was, then set off toward her. “Hey, you traitorous bitch,” he said as he slid onto the bench next to her. His tone was light—joking. “Have fun with your new Ravenclaw buddies, then?”

Jo pouted. “You know I would’ve been with you if I had a choice.”

“Oh, you didn’t have a choice?”

“Ash told me he had some whisky—he lied. Asshat.” She laughed. “But whenever I tried to leave, Charlie would grab my hand and tell me to stay. She has puppydog eyes that would give Sam a run for his money.” Jo’s gaze drifted up to something above Dean’s head. “Who’s your friend?” she asked.

Dean twisted at the waist, blinking when he saw Castiel just… standing there. “Oh, Harvelle, this is Cas. Cas, this is Jo.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Cas said to Jo, completely serious, as he sat down beside Dean, his back perfectly straight.

“Uh,” Jo replied. “You, too… Cas.” She glanced at Dean and raised an eyebrow, like: _What the hell?_

“He’s one of the Novak lot,” Dean explained. “And now I get to ask who _your_ friend is.” He nodded at the redhead, who was now talking to a girl with a bush of brunette hair. Dean recognised the girl—Hermione Granger or something. She never shut up in class.

Jo followed Dean’s gaze. “Name’s Ron. He’s in my Divination class.”

Dean snorted. “That class is a pile of crap, you know.”

“I know.” Jo grinned.

The Winchester was about to reply when someone cleared their throat and the Hall went quiet. Albus Dumbledore stood at his podium—a golden carving of an owl with candles perched along its extended wings.

“Welcome, students,” Dumbledore said once silence had completely fallen, “to another school year at Hogwarts’ School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

There was a resounding whoop from the students—aside from Castiel, who just sat quietly, watching Dumbledore intently—and even Flitwick and Hagrid clapped happily from the teacher’s table. Dumbledore cracked the vaguest of smiles, then raised his hand after a few moments for silence.

He listed off a few announcements—“No entering the girls’ bathroom on the first floor, for Myrtle has flooded it and is refusing to leave her stall for reasons we do not yet understand”, et cetera—then straightened up a little, saying, “Let the feast begin.”

The long tables stretching across the Hall were suddenly overflowing with plates holding foods of all sorts, earning an awed gasp from the first years, who were standing in a group in front of the chair with the Sorting Hat sitting on it (the hat looked annoyed, for some reason. Nothing new there).

“Finally!” Dean exclaimed, and immediately started piling food onto his plate. He bit into a warm loaf of fluffy white bread, then paused when he saw Castiel.

Cas was just sitting there, sipping pumpkin juice from his goblet and gazing around the Hall with those bright, blue eyes.

“You’re not eating?” Dean asked through a mouthful of bread.

Castiel shook his head slightly.

“I thought you were hungry?”

“Not anymore,” Cas said simply.

Dean blinked, then returned to his food, mumbling, “Weirdo.”

“I heard that,” Castiel replied.

The Winchester didn’t respond, though, since he now had a mouthful of chicken drumstick. And he didn’t utter another word until his plate was empty, at which point he glugged down everything in his goblet.

“So,” Jo was saying to him around a mouthful of apple. “That your new boyfriend? He’s cute. You have good taste.”

Dean set his goblet down and shot her a glare. “Sorry to disappoint, but he ain’t my boyfriend. I’m straight, remember?” He paused, then smirked and leaned over to murmur in Jo’s ear, “And I could show you just how straight I am tonight, if you happen to… accidentally fall into my bed.”

Jo pretended to consider this offer for a moment. “Nah,” she replied. “I still have some self-respect left. It’s real nice, actually—you should find yourself some, Winchester.” She laughed and pushed Dean away.

“I’ve got all the self-respect I need, Harve—” Dean broke off when dessert appeared on the table. “ _Pie_!” he yelped gleefully, immediately reaching out to take a slice. “ _Mmm…_ ” He almost moaned the sound as the sweetness of the pastry and its cherry filling spread over his tongue.

“God!” Jo crinkled her nose. “You sound like you’re having sex!”

“If I was,” Dean managed to find the time to say between bites, “then this pie would be the sauciest of minxes. All dominant, with black lingerie and—”

“I think you’re traumatising the Novak kid, Deano.” Jo raised an eyebrow, gesturing to Cas.

Dean turned to look at Castiel and, sure enough, he had gone pink, his eyes as big as the empty plate before him. Dean regarded him.  “You’re a virgin,” he announced.

Cas gave a small nod.

“Knew it. Again. I can read you like a book, man.”

Castiel opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out was a small, almost scared sound. He paused, collected himself, then said, “I have not had the time to have a relationship with anyone—let alone consummate it. Either way, there is nothing wrong with being a virgin, Dean.”

Dean’s only response was a snort.

Jo frowned at him. “Be nice, Winchester,” she admonished, then leaned across Dean to reassure Cas that she was a virgin, too.

“But I plan to change that.” Dean added. “And I will. No doubts about it.”


	4. Chapter 4

After the feast and sorting—Castiel was right; Samandriel _was_ sorted into Hufflepuff—everyone headed, in a huge clump, to their various dorms.

The Gryffindor head boy—a blonde kid Dean didn’t recognise—offered the Fat Lady the password, and she, after subjecting the group to several eardrum-shatteringly high notes of song, allowed them into the dormitory. Most people collapsed in a chair or in front of the fireplace in the Common Room, but Dean decided it was best to head up to his room. Surprisingly, Castiel followed.

Dean paused in the doorway to the room he shared with a group of other boys. “Uh,” he said.

Castiel, catching on to Dean’s confusion, explained, “I got a notice during the vacation that this was to be my room. It’s yours, too?”

“Yeah,” Dean said slowly. “Guess we’re gonna be seeing more and more of each other, huh?”

Cas blinked.

“Not that that’s a bad thing,” Dean added quickly. “You’re pretty cool, you know.”

“Er, thank you, Dean. As are you. You are… cool, too.” Castiel nodded, looking almost chuffed with his use of a word that evidently was not a part of his everyday vocabulary, and walked past Dean and into the room.

Dean followed suit and scanned the area for his trunk, finding it easily—his was the only one with “Metallica”, “AC/DC” and “Asia”, among other band names, written on it in correction fluid. Plus, it was hard to miss the joyful squawking that emanated from Jefferson’s cage when he saw his owner.

The Winchester walked over to his bed and knelt down in front of his owl’s cage. “Heya, buddy,” he greeted, grinning, as he opened the cage’s door and stuck his hand inside to stroke Jefferson’s neck.

Jefferson puffed up with a happy little coo and immediately hopped up onto Dean’s arm, ducking his head to waddle out the cage and up onto his owner’s shoulder. He nuzzled his face into Dean’s neck with a huffed exhalation of contentment.

Dean straightened up, murmuring little praises to his owl, but stopped short when he felt a pair of blue eyes on him. He glanced up at Castiel, who was perched on the edge of his bed and watching Dean with fascination.

“What?” Dean asked.

Cas tilted his head. “You like animals?”

“Uh, not really. I mean, aside from Jeffie. And occasionally Sam’s ball of feathers.” He shrugged. “A lot of them are real high maintenance, which kinda sucks. Jefferson only really needs to have his water refilled daily in case he comes back—he finds his own food, and craps somewhere else. Probably on one of Hogwarts’ turrets’ roofs.” Dean laughed slightly.

Castiel’s cat, Sarai, blinked awake sleepily and regarded Cas briefly; she got up, stretched, went over to Cas and promptly curled up beside him again. Castiel stroked her as he thought over what Dean had said “I suppose you have a point,” he admitted. “I cannot let Sarai find her own food, as she tends to purr when she spots prey—this scares her prey off and she’s unable to catch anything. So I must feed her myself. Still, I don’t think that’s something to resent her for—Sarai is worth it.” He gently pulled the cat into his lap, and her tail curled around his wrist loosely as she sleepily acknowledged him.

“Seriously—you sure you don’t dance around in a coconut bra and sacrifice cellphones to the Nature Gods every now and then?” Dean said. But he was smiling, anyway.

“I am sure,” Castiel replied seriously.

Dean laughed and sat on his bed, leaning back against the headboard and gazing up at the ceiling. Jefferson blinked, his golden eyes wide and startled by the sudden change in altitude, and quickly toddled onto Dean’s chest; his claws curled into the fabric of Dean’s shirt and tickled his chest a little. Dean was unable to contain his burst of laughter.

Although the owl remained undeterred by the sudden sound, Sarai bolted up, hackles raised, and looked around in alarm. Her eyes found Dean and she released a mewl that was probably intended to be threatening but just sounded very small and uncertain.

Castiel, who had still not moved from his cross-legged position on his bed, started when Sarai jumped up. He carefully scooped the cat up—she immediately relaxed in his grip—and whispered something to her in a language that Dean didn’t understand.

Sarai regarded her owner briefly, let loose a “ _mrow_ ” of approval in regard to whatever Cas had said, then wriggled out his grasp and flopped down on the mattress again.

“Uh, sorry for giving your cat a fright…?” Dean said uncertainly.

Castiel chuckled. “It is okay; she just does not like sudden noises.”

“Oh.” Dean paused. “Hey—what did you say to her, anyway? What language was that?”

Cas shrugged. “I just reassured her—and it’s called Enochian. My family—they have always spoken it; I grew up learning it alongside English. I don’t know where it originated from, though.”

“Enochi—what? Never heard of it. You sure it’s not a made-up family thing?”

“Possibly,” Cas replied. “I just know that I can speak it and always have been able to.”

“Say something in it?”

“Okay.” Castiel considered something, then said something that sounded like, “ _Beh rah deh gah eh rah ma._ ”

Dean raised his eyebrows, pulling a flask out his pocket and unscrewing the lid. “What’s that mean?” he asked, taking a sip of the beer he’d watered down inside.

“‘You breed with the mouth of a goat.’”

Dean almost choked on what he was drinking. “Interesting, uh, choice of what to say,” he coughed.

Castiel grinned. “It always surprises people. You’d expect me to say something… insightful—like a prophecy of some sort, yes?”

Dean paused, then shrugged. “I dunno. I guess? I mean, it sounds all… fancy. Enochian, I mean.”

Cas just smirked, then got up and off the bed. He popped open his trunk and rifled through the neatly-packed items, retrieving a set of pyjamas—dark-and-light blue long-sleeved shirt and pants. When he set them on the bed, Dean blinked in surprise—they were _tiny_ , barely big enough for a three-year-old.

“What—?” Dean said, but was cut off when Cas retrieved his wand and murmured a quiet, “ _Amplio._ ”

He glanced over his shoulder at Dean. “I had to compress all my items so they’d fit—I told you on the carriage. Perhaps you should get your hearing checked.” He drew the curtains and was hidden from sight.

By the time Dean heard Castiel opening his curtains again, he was already in his own pyjamas and collapsed on his bed, thumbing through a car magazine he’d brought with him for the train ride. Well, a grey pair of pants and a white sleeveless top. Whatever—he slept in them, so they were pyjamas and that was that.

Dean glanced at Castiel and suppressed a laugh. It was strange to see him in those neat, perfectly pressed pyjamas. He looked like a cartoon; the blue stripes of his PJs almost matched the startling tone of his eyes.

“Hey there, Princess,” Dean said, cocking an eyebrow.

Castiel heaved a large tome from his trunk—that, Dean noticed, hadn’t been sized down—and sat on his bed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “What?”

“You were in there for, like, half an hour. What were you up to in there, anyway? Doing your makeup? Combing your hair?”

Cas gave him an unimpressed look. “I had a button mishap.” And then, without bothering to explain any further, he yanked his curtains closed once more, evidently annoyed.

“’Night, Rapunzel!” Dean called.

“If I were a Disney princess—which I am not—I would most likely be Snow White, Dean. Not Rapunzel—for starters, I’m not blonde—whereas you are. So, in fact, _you_ would be Rapunzel,” Cas mumbled irritably in reply. “Goodnight.”

There was a chirrup from beside Dean’s ear. He glanced over to see Jefferson scrabbling up his curtain and blinking at him with those huge, golden eyes.

“What’re you still doing here, you freeloader?” Dean laughed.

Jefferson made a clucking sound in response.

“Go on, Jeffie. Get to the owlhouse. Your buddies are waiting for ya—I bet that fluffy white one with the black specks is, especially. What’s ’er name? Hairpiece? Hedwig? Whatever. Go get that seductive ball of feathers and make Daddy proud.” He grinned.

The owl tilted his head, then clumsily dropped off the curtain, stretching his wings out before he hit the floor, and swooped out the window.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

As the months passed, Dean and Cas grew closer—to the point that they’d actively seek each other out between classes to regale stories of how McGonnagall had turned some kid into a ferret for not paying attention, or how Flitwick had got so excited about a charm that he had levitated off the ground without realising.

The group as a whole, in fact, became closer; the Harvelles' friend, Charlie, immediately formed a friendship with Castiel; Cas introduced his sharp-faced sister—Anna— to the ragtag group, and to Dean’s surprise, she was incredibly quick-witted, despite her severe features.

As always, everyone in the group had their “favourites”—the person in the group whom they were closest to. It was strange how seamlessly Cas became Dean’s. At first, Dean felt bad for sharing his stories with Cas rather than Jo, but he soon realised the Harvelle girl had taken a particular liking to Anna Novak.

Dean became more aware of Cas and his clever comments; he realised that what he’d taken to be confusion or a general disinterest in what was going on turned out to be a polite shyness—Castiel apparently had a lot to say, but seemed to be too sheepish to interrupt someone to slot in his comments, so instead opted to just mumble them to Dean.

Dean was always caught off-guard by Cas’ unexpected dry humour. At one point, he would silence everyone and ask Cas to repeat what he’d said, but Castiel would just shake his head, blushing furiously. Dean eventually gave up on this idea and simply enjoyed Castiel’s comments when there was one.

Soon, Christmas break was upon them. Cas invited Dean to stay with the Novaks; Dean almost declined—after all, he couldn’t leave Sammy alone at home. However, Cas informed him that Sam and Samandriel (Jesus, that was a tongue-twister if Dean had ever heard one) had developed a friendship and the former had been invited over, too.

The look on Castiel’s face when Dean accepted was priceless.

So, on the last day of school, the Hogwarts express delivered the Winchesters and the Novaks—excluding Anna: she was staying with Jo and Ash—to Platform 9¾, and a quick apparition allowed them to arrive on the doorstep of the Novak house.

And it was probably the weirdest house Dean had ever seen.

From the outside, it appeared to be old-fashioned—a small, square, slightly skew farmhouse-type structure, squashed between others of the same appearance. When he stepped inside after Cas, however, Dean was met by extremely modern-looking furnishings.

From the corridor, Dean could see the interior was decorated in white and silver, and that the house without a wall on one side. Instead, there was gigantic window that provide a view of the lake at least fifty feet lower than the Novak house. Dean quickly looked away; the height made him feel a little sick.

“Whoa, Cas,” he said as he dragged his trunk over the threshold and into the living room and looked around. “S’real...”

“Different on the inside?” Castiel glanced over his shoulder at Dean, blue eyes sparkling with laughter. “Yes. See, just as there is a need to deter muggles from noticing magical objects, there’s also a need to deter criminals from noticing expensive objects,” he explained, gesturing to a large TV extending from an arm attached to the wall. “It was Lucifer’s idea.”

“Oh,” Dean said. “Wait, are your brothers here, too? Or did they—”

There was a loud _pop_ and someone blew against Dean’s neck, and he damn near jumped. Dean whirled around, disoriented.

A short, smirking boy stood in front of him. “Move out? Please. This place’s where it’s _at_. You seen the Espresso machine?”

“Gabriel,” Castiel said exasperatedly from behind Dean. “What need compels you to—”

“Embarrass you in front of your boyfriend, Cassie?” This new voice had a British accent. Dean tore his gaze from Gabriel’s glimmering, honey-coloured eyes to study the lanky man in the doorway. His hair was a silvery blonde, and somehow, he managed to look even smugger than Gabriel.

“To be an absolute imbecile!” Cas huffed, raking a hand through his hair. “Dean, these are my brothers, Gabriel and Balthazar.”

“He’s a pretty one, Cassie. You have good taste.” The taller brother—Balthazar—strode over to Dean and ran a finger along the line of his jaw. Dean scowled, slapping his hand away. “Ooh, feisty, too!” Balthazar exclaimed.

“I always knew Cas was into that sorta stuff,” Gabriel announced triumphantly. “He totally digs handcuffs, too, I bet. Does he, Dean?” He whirled on Cas. “You got any hickeys? Lemme see.” He disapparated, reappearing in front of Cas—apparently not seeing the need to walk when there was the much better solution of apparating—and yanked the neck of his shirt aside.

“How many are there?” Balthazar inquired eagerly.

Gabriel frowned at Castiel’s neck—the latter protesting and trying to wriggle free of his grasp—with dissatisfaction. “None. He’s probably wearing concealer.” Gabe rubbed his thumb over the skin of Cas’ collarbone, then sighed. “Nope. They musta faded by now. Damn, how long have you two been getting it on?”

“Did it ever occur to you,” Castiel retorted as he yanked away, “that a lack of lovebites could be an indication toward the fact that we have not ‘been getting it on’?”

“Of course not,” Balthazar said matter-of-factly. “Like I said, he’s _pretty_ , Cassie.” His gaze slid to Dean, and Dean glared at him. “The things I’d like to hear those pouty lips say…”

“ _Balthazar._ ”

At first, Dean thought it was Cas who had spoken, but this voice was different. He flipped Balthazar off discreetly and turned his attention to the doorway, where a young man stood. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, with dark hair and eyes, proud eyebrows and a sharp jaw. He would’ve been handsome, if his face wasn’t pinched into a scowl.

“Heya, Mike,” Gabriel greeted amiably. He held out the mug of liquid that he’d got somewhere along the line so the dark purple porcelain rim was pressed right under the man’s nose. “Coffee?”

“It’s _Michael_ ,” apparently-Michael snapped. He slapped Gabriel’s hand away, causing the hot liquid to slosh out of the mug and earning a “hey!” from Gabe. He turned his attention to Dean. “I apologise for these two. They really are a lethal combination.”

Dean released a laugh, but there was no humour in Michael’s expression. Dean shut up. “Uh, no problem.”

Michael walked into the room, regarding Dean critically. “You’re Dean? Winchester?”

Dean nodded.

“Your brother and Samandriel are in the latter’s room. They nearly knocked me over whilst running up the stairs.”

It was amazing how dark eyes could appear so icy.

“Sorry about him,” Dean apologised, trying to keep the irritability out his tone. It wasn’t _his_ fault the kid was a klutz. “He gets jumpy when he’s excited.”

“Mm,” Michael said flatly. He pulled a long, perfectly-smooth wand from his pocket and pointed it at Dean’s trunk. The suitcase lifted off the ground. “You’ll be sleeping in Castiel’s room?”

“More like sleeping _with_ him!” Gabriel whooped. Cas threw a grape from the fruit bowl on the table in front of him at his brother.

Gabe caught it in his mouth. “C’mon, you two’ll totally be banging all night long. Just keep it down, will ya?”

Balthazar glanced at Gabriel, rolling his eyes. “Be classy, brother dear. They won’t be _banging_ ; they’ll be making love.” He paused, then added, “With handcuffs, I’m sure.” He shifted his gaze to Dean and Castiel. “You know, I have a pair, if you two would like to borrow them. They’re fluffy and black.”

Dean started to reply but found himself stammering. “I—you—uh—”

“Hold on a second…” Gabriel, now sucking on a lollipop—when did he get all this stuff?—circled Dean. “He’s a virgin, isn’t he!”

“Oh, you poor dear!” Balthazar crooned. “Treat him well, Cassie!”

“Hey!” Dean said indignantly. “I’m not a virgin.”

“And now we _know_ you and Cas have done the do,” Gabriel announced triumphantly.

“I haven’t done anything with Cas!”

“Please don’t yell about such inappropriate things in the house—Samandriel might hear,” Michael chided.

“Are you talking about sex?” Samandriel asked curiously as he and Sam slid down the stairs on a mattress.

“Samandriel, I’ve told you before not to do that! You’ll break something—probably yourself!” scolded Michael.

“Sorry!” Sam apologised on Samandriel’s behalf.

“Go put it away, _now_ ,” Michael huffed.

“Just a little longer?” Samandriel asked, all innocent and puppy dog-eyed. “We’ll be careful!”

“ _No_.”

“Oh, god,” Dean said, looking around at the chaos, wide-eyed.

“Shall we go upstairs?” Cas asked, massaging his temples.

Dean nodded. “Good idea.”

As they were walking up the stairs, there was a yell of, “Be safe, boys!” from Balthazar and a chorus of disgusted “ew!”s from Sam and Samandriel.


End file.
